


December 3rd

by throwupsparkles



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Bullets Era, Danger Days Era, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, M/M, MCR Reunion, Podfic Available, Post Break Up, Revenge Era, Sexual Content, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24190471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwupsparkles/pseuds/throwupsparkles
Summary: Gerard sighs and looks up at him with longing, sadness, age. All the things that haunt Frank at night. Gerard looks like the epitome of a lot of good memories that are far behind him. He knows without having to ask, and he knows that he really shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help it.“The band isn’t still together is it?”****Or, the one where every year, no matter where Gerard is or what year he's from, he meets Frank in the mall parking lot to teach him how to live in the present.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 66
Kudos: 240





	December 3rd

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea yesterday while I was in the shower and then I stayed up until 4 in the morning to write majority of this. This has not had a beta and I'm fucking impatient and just wanted to post this because I love it so much.
> 
> I tried my best to keep things as accurate to the time lines of real MCR events, but of course I fudged some stuff to fit into the story line better.

It’s fucking cold.

Frank looks at the clock on the dash and he’s still got a few minutes until Gerard is supposed to meet him. He wishes that they would meet up in warmer weather, why couldn’t they have chosen sometime in May? Though, Frank’s allergies were always shit in May. 

Frank pulls out his phone and goes through some emails, there’s always so many and Brian keeps scolding him about keeping up so that he knows what’s going on. They have some radio interview to do tomorrow, so at least it won’t matter that Frank will have bags under his eyes. 

The passenger door opens and Frank smiles at Gerard sliding in and putting his hands up on the vents that aren’t working. 

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he mutters, “Why isn’t your heat on?”

“Because it doesn’t work,” Frank says shrugging. He pulls a blanket from the backseat and drapes it over Gerard. 

“Oh, thanks,” he says out the corner of his mouth. 

The Gerard that’s sitting in his passenger seat is not the same one he left at the bar an hour ago. This Gerard has long hair, brown instead of the stark black that he’s got now, and there’s a few grey hairs pulled through. He looks good. Heathy. And most importantly, older. 

“Where are you?” Frank asks.

It would seem like an odd question to anyone else, but Gerard grins and says, “2017.”

“Shit,” Frank breathes and he leans back in his seat to light a cigarette.

“You?”   


“2003.”

“Shit.”

Frank snorts and leans over to light Gerard’s cigarette. “What can you tell me?”

Gerard gives him a knowing smile. They’ve only done this once before and Frank had thought he was fucking high. 

He had been rolling a joint, just sitting behind the mall in the middle of the night with Bullets playing softly. If Frank had anyone else in the car he would have said that he was just trying to remember his parts for the show they were playing tomorrow. Which was a fucking lie. He knew every My Chem song like the back of his hand. 

He thought maybe he smoked the joint he was still rolling, that was the only way to explain Gerard getting into his car. But it wasn’t  _ his _ Gerard. He could tell that right away. His hair was longer, and he was caked in makeup. And he wouldn’t fucking shut up. 

“Frankie? What are you doing here?” Gerard asked, sliding into his car. “I thought I left you with Bob...wait.”

Frank and Gerard had stared at each other for a long, comical moment before Gerard wrinkled his forehead and whispered, “You’re not my Frank, not...you’re, this already happened.”

“What?” Frank had asked stupidly. 

Gerard tilted his head to the side, and eyed him before grinning. “You don’t even know,” he had whispered, “you have no idea what’s in store for you.”

Frank blinked and put the joint down, he really did not need that at the moment, and shifted in his seat so he was facing Gerard. “What are you talking about?”

“What year is this?”

“Are you fucking high?”

Gerard huffed and rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question.”

“2002,” he answered slowly, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. 

Gerard beamed at him. “Wow,” he whispered, “Wow, you’re, you’re in the fucking beginning of it.”

Frank still didn’t understand any of this. He just watched Gerard look at him dreamily, “I wish I could go back sometimes, just to remember to enjoy it. These days are really important, Frankie.”

Frank traced over Gerard’s face again. He didn’t just look different from the makeup and the hair. His eyes were clear and full. They weren’t hazed with beer or uncertainty. He talked like he was sure, volume at a level that Frank could actually hear. He didn’t mumble ideas, wasn’t hunched over. He didn’t seem like the timid basement Gerard that Frank knew at all. 

And so Frank asked, “What year?”

Gerard grinned. “2005.”

And they had talked for hours, until the sun came up. Gerard wouldn’t tell him any specifics because, “haven’t you seen  _ any _ time travel movies?” But he told him little things, like how he seriously needs to cut the dreads out of his hair and that he should be careful about taking acid in Sweden with those twin girls. And Frank tells him about his days in the studio, how his Gerard has this gnarly tooth infection, to which this Gerard shudders. “That was the worst pain I think...well, no, but it’s up there.”

Frank didn’t ask him specifics of anything, just let Gerard tell him what he thought he could.

Now, Frank lights his own cigarette and forgoes cracking a window in order to keep some heat in the car. “That’s a big time jump,” Frank muses, “Is it different each time?”

Gerard pauses, which he usually does when he’s trying to decide if the answer will give anything too big away. “Yeah,” he settles, “I don’t always come to you in order.”

“Rad.”

Gerard snorts.

“What?” Frank asks, flicking ash into the takeout cup sitting in his center console.

Gerard shrugs, his blanket coated shoulders going up to his ears and pushing a grey strand into his face. “I just forget how much you haven’t changed.”

Frank grins. “What am I like? Am I a boring middle aged man yet?”

“I don’t think you could ever be boring, Frank,” Gerard says, but there’s a tinge of wistfulness to his voice. 

“What is it?”

Gerard sighs and looks up at him with longing, sadness, age. All the things that haunt Frank at night. Gerard looks like the epitome of a lot of good memories that are far behind him. He knows without having to ask, and he knows that he really shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help it.

“The band isn’t still together is it?”

Gerard lets the ash of his cigarette fall on his jeans. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

Frank knows that most bands don’t fucking last forever, but you never think about that when you’re in it. Especially this early on. Especially with  _ this _ band. Frank’s been in plenty of fucking bands. He’s seen plenty of bands, has been in the scene long enough to know that My Chemical Romance is fucking special. He knows, but the way that Gerard is looking at him makes him second guess himself. 

“How long?” Frank whispers.

Gerard reaches out and takes Frank’s hand, squeezes it. “Just enjoy the time you’re in, Frankie. Don’t worry about my time.”

Frank squeezes Gerard’s hand back, wanting to keep him here. To keep him here in Jersey where they’ll play another VFW hall tomorrow then drink cheap beer and crash at some random person’s house. Where Gerard is easy at laughing and he’s handsy when he drinks. Where Gerard is still whispering ideas to him in the early hours of the morning. Where his eyes are bright and his smile is genuine. 

Frank brings Gerard’s hand up to his lips, presses his cold lips to his ink splattered knuckles. “Are we still friends?”

Gerard doesn’t answer, just tugs their hands to his own lips.

*

Frank struggles with telling the rest of the guys. From telling Gerard that he’s going to be this confident middle aged man one day with ink all over his fingers from making comics. Frank knows that his present day Gerard still draws, but doesn’t think anything is going to come from it. 

He wants to tell him that he gets to live out more than one dream. 

Frank hadn’t pushed Gerard into revealing more about the band, but he still asked about Gerard in 2017. Where he was living, and he’s a little shocked that Gerard actually lives anywhere but Jersey. He asked him if he stuck to the vegetarian diet thing and Gerard blushed and said that he still eats chicken. He asked him what television is like, to which Gerard laughed and told him that technology is about to go on a wild ride, but no there aren’t any holograms in people’s living rooms yet. He got him to talk about his new dreams. How he has made peace with what he’s created musically, but that he still craves to make more. Frank hesitantly asked if he still does, and Gerard nodded. But, there was something sad in his eyes that Frank pushed away with more silly questions like, “Are there self driving cars?” And Gerard grinned and told him about the Tesla.

They talked until the sun peeked over the mall and Gerard reached over to tuck Frank’s hair behind his ear. “I better get going,” he whispered. 

And Frank just nodded. “Same time next year?”

Gerard grinned and slid out of the car and disappeared as the sun licked blue-pink light over the pavement. Frank tried to follow Gerard with his eyes, to see where he went, but he just walked until Frank couldn’t see him anymore.

And then he was gone. 

*

Even though it’s always fucking cold, Frank is glad that they meet in December. It’s easier to plan being home to find his way to the parking lot. Even though they’re on the other side of the world, he knows he’ll be home in December to spend time with his family for Christmas. 

The Ways make sure they get the full month at home, and Ray pulls puppy dog eyes at Brian when he tries to talk them into a few more press things, the hype of the new album still hasn’t died down. And Frank wonders if this is it. This is the moment that 2005 Gerard had been hinting at, that it was only going up, up, up from here. 

“Where are you going, Iero?” Gerard asks, arm slung around Mikey. Gerard still looks like a ghost to Frank these days. He wonders when he stops seeing Gerard hunched over the trash can in Japan on the verge of death. He felt like an absolute tool as everyone coddled him, rubbed his back and Mikey cried on his phone to Brian for someone to come save his brother. They all thought that Gerard was going to die that night. Everyone except Frank, who knew that he would live until at least 2017, but he couldn’t tell anyone that. He just had to stand back and watch Gerard work out his demons.

And while he knew Gerard would make it through, it still doesn’t erase the image from the back of his eyes. Still doesn’t make him see past the death that was gripped around Gerard that night. It didn’t make it any easier. 

He still has nightmares. 

“Meeting up with some friends,” he says with a grin, “You know, I do know other people besides you idiots.”   


Mikey rolls his eyes, but grins against Gerard. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Yeah, who could love a face like that?” Gerad says fondly. 

Frank grins at him and gives them a little wave before getting into his car. He still has some time to kill, Gerard doesn’t show up until around midnight. He takes his time to drive around his hometown, to take in everything that’s changed since they’ve been on the road. He always read in magazines from his favorite bands that it’s so disorienting coming home after a tour. Everything doesn’t get put on hold just because the world seems to be spinning for you. That’s how it feels, like the world is just theirs, spinning round and round for Frank and the guys. How he wakes up in a new place every day but plays the same songs. That he jumps around and crashes into Gerard, slams into Bob’s drums, slumps against Mikey, and tries not to mess up Ray’s focus. 

He kept replaying 2017 Gerard’s hint that the band ends over and over when he watched Gerard go through detox this summer. He kept bringing him wet wash clothes on the plane, wiping the back of his neck and kissing his forehead. He hugged Mikey when Gerard was throwing up in the bathroom, rubbed his back and told him that Gerard would be fine. When Mikey asked how he knew, all he could say was that this wasn’t the end. And Mikey had believed him, had looked him in the eyes and just accepted it. 

He wants to tell off whichever version of Gerard he gets tonight for putting him through hell, because he can’t scream at present day Gerard who’s still fragile. But, fuck, Frank is so angry. Angry at himself for not doing anything about the booze and drugs in the first place. He just didn’t think anything of it because the future Gerards he’s met so far hadn’t warned him about it. They didn’t even bring it up. He would have thought almost dying on your own puke would be worth mentioning, butterfly effect be damned. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He bites out as soon as Gerard gets in his car. 

He had been stewing in the rage all evening, planning out what he was going to say. Some more elegant than what he just said, others worse.

Gerard runs a hand through his blonde hair and tugs his coat closer to him. “Uh, what?”

“You could have died,” Frank hisses. 

Gerard’s eyes fall, like he’s going back into his memory of that night, whatever is left of it. “Oh.”

“Yeah,  _ oh _ !”

“Frankie, you knew I’d be ok,” he says softly.

“Just,” Frank starts, but he huffs, because he knows that Gerard is right, but he’s still so fucking angry. He punches the steering wheel. “How could you do that to us? To  _ Mikey _ ?”

Gerard looks younger than the 2017 version he saw last year, but not by much. He still has the stillness that he doesn’t have in present day, and his mouth is quivering downward. 

“You know, Mikey’s been clean for a little over a year now,” Gerard whispers softly.

All the anger in Frank momentarily dissipates. Mikey? “What?”

“I’ve always had the attention on me,” Gerard continues, not really looking at Frank. “When I was sick in Japan, everyone jumped on board to get me to get clean. Everyone followed me around, kept an eye on me and was cautious about letting me anywhere near a bar or party. I remember Brian was hesitant about letting us play Warped because of it. He was so fucking scared that I had ruined us. But no one was watching Mikey.”

It’s the most that Frank’s gotten out of one of these conversations, and he’s a little breathless from it. “We play Warped?”

Gerard huffs a laugh, and the heaviness lightens a bit. Gerard looks over at him and beams at him. “You still surprise me, even after all this time.”

“How much time?” He whispers.

“2015.”

He doesn’t ask the question that’s on his lips. Instead he says, “What are you doing?”

“Just got back from Mexico a few weeks ago,” he hums and Frank wonders if he purposely didn’t include a pronoun.

“Look,” Frank says softly, “You have to tell me some things.”   


“Frank--”

“Like Mikey? Ok, pay attention to him more. What else?”   


“Frank--”

“I know that you didn’t die. Ok, cool, whatever. But a little heads up would be fucking nice? I had to stand there and watch you throw up your fucking insides, Gee. I watched Mikey look at you like it was the last fucking time he’d ever see you and you just…”

“Frankie,” Gerard says, sounding strangled under pressed down tears. 

Frank picks at the tear in his jeans at his knee, pinches the frayed threads between his fingernails. “You can tell me some stuff. I get...maybe you can’t tell me about me and that’s fine. Maybe not the band either, but stuff like this. Stuff like watching you...Gee, please.”

“It doesn’t get that bad again,” Gerard says.

Frank looks up at him, and he can tell Gerard is still holding something back, well a lot of things back probably. “Bad as in drinking bad or bad as in scary head stuff bad?”

Gerard smiles gently at him. “I never appreciated you at this age,” he murmurs, “I wish I had. You noticed a lot more than I gave you credit for.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I  _ can’t _ tell--”

“Bull-fucking-shit,” he snaps, “Who says? Fucking  _ Back to the Future _ ?”

“Every fucking science fiction book or movie ever!”

“This isn’t fiction! This is really happening. And you have to tell me things so that I can fix this!”

“Fix what? Nothing is broken for you. You’re still in the good years.”

“The  _ good _ years? Are you kidding me? You were doing coke and drinking your liver to death most of this year and  _ this _ is a good year?”

“Stop.”

“No! You stop!” Frank doesn’t realize he’s crying until Gerard reaches out and wipes at his wet cheeks. 

“Frankie, just live in your own time. Stop asking me what the future has in store for you, because if I tell you, you’re just going to be hyper fixed on that and it might not even happen.”

“Good,” Frank whispers.

Gerard cocks his eyebrow. 

“Maybe I want to change the future.”

“Frank,” Gerard says sternly, shaking his head and wiping more falling tears. 

“Tell me how to fix whatever broke in you.”

*

He doesn’t expect his door to open and Gerard to climb into his lap. He’s still in shock when Gerard pulls the lever under his seat and they’re suddenly horizontal. 

Frank gets with the program pretty quickly though, he grabs Gerard’s black hair and pulls him down, crushing their lips together. This isn’t the first time they’ve kissed, nowhere near the first time. They’ve made out in their bunks plenty of times. When the days on the road get to them, Frank will crawl into Gerard’s bunk or Gerard will catch him in some storage closet in whatever venue they’re at. But, this Gerard is more demanding, pulling Franks hair and tilting his face up for the onslaught of his frenzy. 

Frank works to slow him down though. He keeps his lips moving at a slow pace, answering Gerard’s bruising force with soft nips and slips of his tongue. Settles his hands on Gerard’s bucking hips and holds them in place. 

“Gee,” Frank whispers.

Gerard opens his eyes and it’s like he suddenly realizes what he’s doing. He looks at him like he’s trying to memorize his face. When he leans back down, his lips are gentle, almost hesitant. He pulls Frank’s bottom lip in between his and sucks, causing Frank to lift his hips up against Gerard and they’re both hard already. And the friction is just short of enough. He strokes down Gerard’s cheek, lets his fingers find the pulse point in his neck and press down. Connecting him through the beats, it’s always music with him. 

The beat of a heart. The cadence of breath. The harmony of both their whimpers when Gerard slides their hips over each other again. 

Frank reaches between them and undoes Gerard’s jeans, and Gerard’s urgency returns to get his too tight jeans over his ass and off, thrown onto the passenger seat. He returns to Frank and pulls his jeans just far enough down his legs to release him from his boxers. “Fuck, Frankie,” he whines and then he’s sliding back and goes under the steering wheel to kneel on the ground.    
Frank knows how fucking uncomfortable this is. Why the fuck are they doing this in the car?

But the question forming on Frank’s lips is taken away at the first slide of Gerard’s tongue. He bites down the whimper that’s bubbling up his throat and he tries to keep his hips from bucking into Gerard’s mouth. Gerard mouths at the head, swirling his tongue round and round in a way that Frank knows they’ve done this before. They haven’t yet, not in his time, but this Gerard is too knowledgeable of all Frank’s weaknesses for this to be the first time he’s been on his knees in front of Frank. 

Frank reaches down to cup Gerard’s cheek. Feels it hollow when Gerard takes Frank all the way in his mouth, not stopping until his nose is nestled against Frank’s coarse hair. Frank’s fingers wonder to where Gerard’s lips are stretched over Frank and that touch, that feeling of him sliding wet in and out of Gerard’s mouth makes him want to lose himself right then and there. Gerard pulls off to press a kiss into Frank’s hand, eyes meeting his and with an intensity he’s never seen before.

It’s different from the desperate loneliness that he usually sees in Gerard’s eyes when they’re rutting against each other’s jeans in the bunks. Gerard’s told him that he loved him, but it was always sweet breathy declarations while they’re hugging under blankets. But this look, the way Gerard is looking at him right now is more than that. 

They stare at each other for a beat, their harsh breaths louder than the air blasting through the vents, then Gerard sinks back down on Frank, holding his gaze.

“Fuck, Gerard, fuck,” he moans, his head falling back against the seat because he can’t watch Gerard anymore if he wants this to last. But then Gerard’s fingers are pressing against him and Frank knows that he’s a goner. He tries to breath through it, tries to keep his babbling to a minimum, and he absolutely tries to keep his hips from bucking against Gerard.

“Come on, Frankie,” He says, his voice fucking wrecked and it’s all that Frank needs to arch up and explode down Gerard’s throat. He’s breathless and he knows that he’s gripping Gerard’s hair too tightly, but he can’t stop his muscles from going taut and his thighs from shaking around Gerard’s head. Gerard pulls off and kisses his stomach, gently bringing him back down, stroking his hips lightly.

“Come here,” Frank pleads and Gerard climbs back up to hover over him. Gerard is leaking all over Frank’s hand already and it only takes a few strokes before sprays of warmth coat his stomach. 

Gerard lays down against him, not caring that he’s laying in his own mess. 

“Gross,” Frank says softly, wrinkling his nose, but he kisses the top of Gerard’s head and smiles at the huff of soft laughter escaping Gerard’s raw lips. 

Frank doesn’t want to ask about this. He doesn’t want to jinx it, to have it not come true in the future. But he can fucking  _ feel _ that this is real for them. That this is their future. And Frank thinks he can handle the band breaking if it means that Gerard and him still have a future. 

Frank strokes his fingers down Gerard’s back. “What time?”

“2007,” Gerard whispers.

*

Frank just about breaks every traffic law to get to the shopping mall parking lot. He’s late, he knows. He was talking to every fucking relative because after the holidays the band is going on a tour that doesn’t seem to have an end date in sight. He’s so full of carbs all he wants to do is go to bed, but he feels a rush of energy when he sees a fiery red Gerard standing in the spot Frank usually parks in. 

Frank pulls up and rolls down his window. “How much?”

Gerard rolls his eyes and opens the door, sliding in and lighting a cigarette.

Huh.

“What?”

“You look so different. What year are you in?”

“2010,” He says with a smile, “You?”

“2006,” Frank says, reaching out to run his fingers through Gerard’s bright hair. “Is this for an album?”

“Yeah, do you like it?”

Frank giggles. “You know, you just chopped your hair and bleached it in my time.”   


Gerard sighs. “I miss that hair.”

“This is a good look for you too,” Frank tells him, “I don’t think there’s anything you can’t pull off.”

“Beg to differ,” Gerard says, flicking ash into the cup sitting in the console. “Remember the random red patch at the back of my hair.”   


Frank snorts. “You had better hair jobs than I did at least.”

“You’re right, I never dreaded my hair.”

“Jesus fuck, I’ll never live that down will I?”

Gerard laughs, throws his head back and cackles. He looks so alive. So colorful. 

Different from the Gerard that is still floating in his mind from the Paramour. 

“You still look haunted,” Gerard says softly.

Frank smiles tightly and looks away from him, out through the windshield and he’s starting to feel it in his bones. What Gerard had meant about how he had been in the good days. Before the fame got too big for them. Before he felt the stifling pressure to make a statement, to be  _ that _ band. All because they had more to say than just whine about breakups. Now there was a standard to live up to and Frank was starting to crack. 

But he couldn’t, because he had to hold Gerard up. He had to sit there next to him while he watched Joan of Arc burn at the stake on mute over and over on the television while his eyes were pulled down by heavy, purple bags. He had to walk Mikey out of the Paramour and into Stacy’s care. He had to sit there and replay the same chords over and over to help Ray find peace within himself. He had to sit in silence while Bob refused to sleep in his room. 

He had to be the strong one for everyone so that they wouldn’t break. He refused to let this band break. Fuck the future. 

Frank had this gift, and he wasn’t going to throw it away. He read and watched all the sci-fi shit too, he knew that you didn’t just start getting messages from the future if it didn’t  _ mean _ something. 

“Frankie, hey,” Gerard whispers, bringing him back to his present.

And Frank scrambles out of his seat and into Gerard’s lap, presses his face into Gerard's neck and breathes him in. “You won’t touch me anymore,” he whispers. 

He feels Gerard stiffen, then his hand is pressing lightly in between Frank’s shoulder blades, holding him closer. “I’ve got you now,” he murmurs, “You’re not in that place anymore.”

“Why?” Frank whispers.

Gerard strokes up and down Frank’s spine. “I thought we needed to live in that, that darkness to make that album.”

“It’s a beautiful album,” Frank agrees.

“It’s taken me a long time to learn that I don’t have to torture myself to make art,” he tells him.

Frank touches Gerard’s hair. “This new album, it looks a hell lot more fun.”

Gerard snorts. “It’s about art. About being old in the scene and flicking off the corporate machine for trying to tell us what to do.”

Frank brushes a kiss to Gerard’s jaw. “I feel sorry for anyone who tells you what to do.”

He feels the smile against his lips, and Frank sits up to lick at the corners. Gerard sighs and kisses him back. 

The hollowness in Frank’s chest fills again with the warmth of Gerard. After months of watching Gerard become another one of the ghosts inside the Paramour, this was exactly what Frank needed. He needed to see Gerard bright with color, with sun kissed skin and an easy smile. He needed to see the color among all the black that he was currently living in. All the death, the sickness, the agony and self detain. 

He had been there while Gerard tore out his insides and examined every last ugly thing he hated about himself. And it almost made Frank hate him too. Hate him for shoving that ugliness into Frank’s face, almost taunting him, trying to prove to him that he was unlovable. Gerard couldn’t be loved by anyone. He was an enigma. An idea.

It’s just an idea. 

“You’re real,” Frank whispers to him now, tugging on a red strand. “You can dye your hair, cut it off, paint lines over your eyes, but you’re real, Gerard. You are not a character in a story. This is our life.”

Gerard leans back to stare at him. He reaches a hand out to trace over Frank’s eyebrows, over his cheekbones, across his nose and down to his lips. “Say that again.”

“You’re real,” he whispers against Gerard’s fingertips. He takes them in his hand and kisses them, “You’re real to me.”

*

Frank almost didn’t come.

But then he ended up showing up an hour early. 

He had taken a red eye to get back to Jersey and the other guys couldn’t understand why. 

“We’re in fucking Australia,” Brain had said, “And you want me to fly you to Jersey for a night?”

“Look, it’s a family emergency.”

“Is...is everything alright?”

“No.”

And it wasn’t. 

After Frank had driven off from their parking lot last year, he drove to Jamia’s house and broke up with her for good. They had an on and off thing for the past almost nine years, she was always really slack about him going on tour and he hardly saw her anyway. It was hard, but she didn’t seem all that surprised and Frank wondered if the feeling settling in his bones was the same kind he felt when he realized that the band was making it. 

It was the revved up feeling, but his stomach was still settled. His hands steady and his heart sure. He was so sure about the decision, until Gerard had to be fucking Gerard. 

It was almost a blur.

Gerard hung around Mindless Self Indulgence more than their own band, like he was sick of them. That the house had turned them all ugly, too ugly for him. Or, and Frank was more sure about this one, that Gerard felt too ugly around them now. He needed to be around someone who saw him as shiny and new again. 

That someone wore pigtails and fishnets.

Frank wanted to hate her, but he could see why Gerard was so in love with her. But, Gerard had girlfriends before and it never stopped them. God, he sure could pick them. Still, he should have known that Lynz was different, that she was going to stick. 

But he thought he had time. 

He thought he had the sureness of the future to back him up. He knew that future Gerard was still in love with him, he could see it in his eyes. Felt it that night in the car. 

Which is why it fucking  _ hurt _ when Gerard had shoved him. No, not just shove, but pushed, punched and thrown him off to the side of the stage. And what hurt worse, was how he didn’t meet his eyes the whole time. His jaw was set and he just felt all the fucking anger in Gerard’s hands. Hands that had held him, that had caressed him, that had laid him down on mattresses. 

He’s still blinking away tears when Gerard slides into the car. Frank wipes his eyes and takes him in. His hair is red again, but it's cropped short. He doesn’t look much older than he did the last time he saw him in this car. 

“Frank?” He asks softly, reaching out for him and Frank recoils. 

Gerard drops his hand and stares hard at him, takes in his appearance and then closes his eyes. “Frankie,” he whispers.

“Why?” Frank bites, and he doesn’t care that his vision is blurring again.

“Why?” Gerard asks gently, “You’re going to have to give--”

“Fuck you,” he growls, “Fuck you. You fucking knew. You knew and you didn’t say  _ anything _ .”

“You...Frank, I thought you figured it out,” Gerard says with raised eyebrows. He holds up his left hand. “What did you think this ring was?”

Frank bites his lip. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s noticed it. Doesn’t want to tell Gerard that he thought it was for him. But it’s fucking Gerard and he reads him like an open book. “Oh Frankie.”   


“Shut up. Shut the fuck up!” Frank yells, slamming his hand into the steering wheel. “I broke up with Jamia for you!”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“No,” Frank whimpers, “You just came to meet me every year. You just kissed me and fucking…”

“Frank, please.”

Frank presses his hands over his face and leans against the steering wheel. All the fight is gone. All the anger that he spent the hour building up leaves him and he’s nothing. Absolutely the nothing that Gerard doesn’t want. 

“Frankie, I love you,” Gerard murmurs, hands gentle on Frank’s shoulders. “Look at me, baby.”

Frank wants to deny him, wants to hold onto this anger to hurt Gerard the way he’s hurt him. But he’s weak. Gerard will always make him weak, and so he lets Gerard pull him into the backseat with him. He pulls the blanket that Frank always keeps in the back around them and holds him close. He presses their foreheads together. 

“Why?” Frank whispers again.

“I wish,” Gerard starts, then he sighs, “There are nights where I regret that summer. But then I look at my daughter and there’s no way I would take it back.”

Frank holds back a sob. “Daughter?”

Gerard smiles, and it’s sad but beautiful all at the same time in the way that Gerard has come to perfect over the years. 

“So, we don’t get past this,” Frank says softly.

Gerard shakes his head. “We don’t and we do.”   


The band moves past this. 

Even though Ray had held Frank while he cried when he found out that Gerard and Lynz got married. Without telling him. Without an invitation. And they still haven’t talked about it. Frank just shows up where he’s supposed to be on stage. Looks down at his guitar and hits his notes then walks off and crawls into his bunk. He knows that it’s putting a strain on the other guys, but he doesn’t know how to move on from this heartbreak. 

But, he knows that this isn’t the end of the band. He still has to live through the color. He still hasn’t seen Gerard’s coy smile and the red hair. 

Frank doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance again, so he closes the small distance between their lips. He breathes heavy against him and clings to Gerard. Pulls at the stupid dress shirt he’s wearing and shifts so that he’s over Frank, pinning him down the way he used to in his bunk. Just last year for Frank. Years for Gerard. 

But his touch feels the same as it did. He still knows every sensitive spot, how to kiss right under his ear. He knows that rubbing slow circles against Frank’s hips with gentle thumbs pulls out breathy, fluttery noises that Frank used to get embarrassed over. 

Frank doesn’t hesitate. He has nothing to lose. He unbuttons Gerard’s shirt slowly and with determination. Letting Gerard know that this is what he wants. What he will  _ always _ want. He sits up and slides the shirt off Gerard’s shoulders, mouthing at the tiny freckles that almost disappear in the winter. Gerard pulls Frank’s shirt off and he smiles at the ink, traces over them with his tongue and Frank wonders if he has them all memorized still. 

Frank wonders if his hands would have ever stopped shaking when he removed their pants. If over time he would have grown used to seeing Gerard naked. To be able to touch him. To be loved by him. If the pull in his heart ever lost its strength. But he’ll never know. That was never their future. 

Frank pulls out the lube and condoms that he put in the car after the first time, just in case. He tries not to laugh at Gerard’s high eyebrows and grabby hands. But he smiles big, the kind of smile he didn’t think he’d be able to have again. 

Gerard pauses to watch it, and licks it before Frank has a chance to tuck it back into safety. “I love your smile,” he whispers against his lips, “I haven’t seen it in so long.”

Frank doesn’t let the words rattle in his mind as much as he probably should. He just lays back and opens his legs for Gerard. Gerard leans down and licks at swallows in between his hips. Nips at the one with the line across his eyes. He had wondered if Gerard ever noticed their eyes. Crosses and lines. 

He’s about to say something about it when Gerard’s mouth takes him at the same time his slick fingers slide into him, two, crossed like an inside joke. 

Frank arches and moans, ragged and desperate. He needs this to last. He needs this to last because it could be the last. Last, last, last. 

He grips at Gerard’s cropped hair. “Fuck me,” he begs.

Gerard lifts off him and holds his gaze, like he did years ago.  _ Years _ ago. And Frank sees it. Sees that the way he’s looking at him is the same as back then. That the Gerard who had blown him in this same fucking parking lot had loved him the same way this Gerard loves him, the same way that the Gerard he shared bunks and miles with loved him. 

The same way that Frank will  _ always _ love Gerard.

And he doesn’t know why the world is so cruel.

For the first time since Gerard came barreling into his car, he doesn’t want to know about the future. He just wants to live in the now. He just wants to live in this moment where Gerard is staring at him like he’s the only person on this earth for him, even though he knows it’s not true. He wants to live here, where Gerard’s hands are stroking his skin back to life after feeling so dead. Where his lips are whispering promises that will always break.

Where Gerard claims his body and mouth and heart and mind. Like he knows he can take and take, destroy and hurt and Frank will always be his. 

*

There’s moments in time where Frank has to remind himself what day it is. And he almost misses December 3rd. They all blur together on the road that he hasn’t left in so long. He almost cried when he came home and saw his old beater car that he drove around Jersey when he was just some punk kid looking for a band to call his home. 

His mom makes fun of him for keeping the car after all these years. 

“You have more than enough money to get a new car,” she had pointed out.

“I like this one,” he had insisted. 

Frank has to hit the dashboard a few times to get the heater to blow actual warm air. He’s still pounding away when the door opens and Gerard sits down. 

Frank furrows his brows because he looks awful. He’s so thin and he looks so worn.

“Gee?”

Gerard just covers his eyes and his frail shoulders start to shake. 

Frank pushes his seat back and pulls at Gerard’s arm, tugging until Gerard crawls into his lap. He curls against him and for a long moment, they just sit like that. The only sound coming from the heater and Gerard’s soft sniffles. Frank rubs his back and tries to shake the feeling that this isn’t  _ his _ Gerard at all. He doesn’t know who this man is, but he’s not his. 

“I relapsed,” Gerard says sadly.

Frank’s hand stills on Gerard’s back. 

“I’m getting better,” he says quickly, softly, and almost childlike, “But I hurt a lot of people to do it.”

“But you’re getting better?” Frank whispers.

Gerard nods against his chest.

“Then it’s worth it.”

“I hope you remember this when you get to 2013.”

*

Gerard is running late this time. Frank is leaning back in his seat smoking and playing the songs they’ve been working on through the speakers. He doesn’t hate them necessarily, he just hates how they make him feel.

He doesn’t feel like they’re even a band anymore. The Black Parade had seemed like the end to Frank. It was the biggest that Frank had ever felt on stage, they had played the biggest stages that Frank had ever seen. They played Madison Square Garden. All the checkboxes on his list of things he wanted to do with this band had been checked. It should have ended after the Garden. 

But he still hasn’t seen the color.

And he doesn’t know when that will happen. Frank never asked the red headed Gerard what year he was from, and he’s sort of glad he hadn’t. He wants that Gerard to be his carrot, to keep him trekking through whatever hell he’s currently in. 

His life was just so disorienting. In the haze of the tour, he also married Jamia. He invited Gerard just out of spite at first, but then when he saw him in his tux standing next to him while he married the woman he’s so fucking head over heels in love with, it felt right. To have his best friend, his soulmate there with him for that important moment in his life. Even if he still thinks that it could have been them, he’s made peace that it won’t. 

When the door opens, he starts choking on the smoke that he breathed in too harshly.

“I keep telling you to quit,” Mikey drawls. 

Frank sits up and squints at him. He definitely looks different from the Mikey he left at the studio. He looks older, and not just physically. His eyes are heavy and they sort of never end, deep pools of too many horrors he’s seen. And Gerard’s warning comes back in his mind.

_ No one was watching Mikey. _

“How long have you been clean?” Frank asks softly.

Mikey smiles tightly, “Few months.”

“Proud of you.”

Mikey huffs a small laugh, the kind that hits Frank in the gut because it takes him back to when they used to play small bars and Mikey would laugh and laugh and laugh. Never full belly laughs, catching everyone’s attention. No, you had to be paying attention. You had to know Mikey to catch him laughing. And it always tugged at his heart when he got one of those moments with him. 

“Gerard sent me,” Mikey says, “I almost didn’t believe him.” 

He pulls the lever on his seat and reclines back, looks up at the yellowing ceiling of Frank’s car. “You know how he is,” Mikey continues softly, “I thought he was just making up a story for me to focus on while I was in rehab. He told me about the parking lot and how every December third he would come here and you would be waiting for him. But, you were in the past. And he told me how nice it was to be able to live through some of the moments, to be able to see you before it all hit the fan. Before the band destroyed us.”

“It didn’t destroy--”

“You haven’t,” Mikey cuts him off, closing his eyes and shaking his head, “Gee said I couldn’t tell you specifics. But, Frank, you haven’t gotten there yet.”

And Frank doesn’t know how he’s going to survive whatever the Ways are hinting at. How could it get any worse than this nothingness he feels. How could it get worse than looking at his band mates and seeing strangers. Worse than making music with his favorite band in the world and feeling apathetic about the outcome. Of not being excited. Of being older and knowing that the days of being squished in a van with easy smiles and dreamed stuffed heads were over. That the  _ possibility _ of a future with the man who owns his heart is gone. 

“Is this Conventional Weapons?”

Frank lights another cigarette. “Yeah,” he says softly. 

Mikey hums, but doesn’t say anything for a long time, until the last song plays. “I don’t hate this album.”

Frank grins. “That’s how I feel about it too.”

“It’s just…”

“Heavy?”

“Yeah.”

Frank taps the ash off his cigarette. 

“Tell Gee to go to the desert,” Mikey whispers.

Frank turns his head to look at him. “Isn’t that cheating?”

Mikey turns to look at him. “Maybe. But I don’t want him to hurt any longer than he has to.”

Frank pulls his phone out and puts on Bullets next and Mikey’s face breaks into a wide grin at the opening chords. The kind of toothy grin that shows his weird, pointy canines, and it makes Frank’s cheeks hurt from his own smile. Because he hasn’t seen that kind of smile in a long time. Probably before the Paramour. 

He wants to ask, has always wanted to ask what broke him there. If that house had been the breaking point for all of them. If they hadn’t ever gone there, maybe things would have been different.

“Stop,” Mikey whispers, staring at him, “Stop trying to figure out what goes wrong.”

“What  _ went _ wrong,” Frank mutters.

Mikey eyes soften. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, where you are right now. But, it does get fun again,” he says, and he grins again, “It’s really fun again for a bit.”

Frank tries not to focus on the apparent time limit. 

The band ends after the color, he figures.

And now he’s not sure if he wants to see the color after all.

*

Frank is bone tired when he pulls up to the parking lot. He almost hoped that Gerard would have been late so that he could take a small nap.

“You look like shit,” Gerard says, shutting the door.

“You look like Bowie,” Frank retorts, taking in Gerard’s copper hair and the blue suit he’s wearing.

“Oh,” Gerard says, blushing a little though it’s hard to tell under all the makeup, “Sorry, I didn’t have time to change. I just came from the airport.”

Frank doesn’t ask about the band anymore. Frank’s learned that knowing the future doesn’t change anything. 

“I’m a dad now,” Frank says softly, and he only really says it because he’s still getting used to how that sounds. 

Gerard beams at him. “Oh,” he whispers, “Oh, yeah I remember this.”

Frank knows he’s referring to their phone call. The one Frank slipped outside to have after Jamia and the twins finally went to bed. He had sat on his front step and called Gerard, hand pressed against his forehead.

“Frank? Do you know what time it is?”

“You know I can’t stop listening to that song,” Frank had whispered, “Do you know that it was the first thing that I heard when I was driving the twins home today.”

Gerard hadn’t said anything. Frank heard the spark of a lighter even though Gerard had said he was trying to quit.

“I knew that it was special,” Frank said, tears slowly choking his voice, “But listening to it with them in the backseat. To know that, fuck, Gee, we aren’t kids anymore.”

“We haven’t been in a long time,” Gerard whispered.

“It just,” Frank sniffled, “I don’t think I’m ready for that to be over.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Frank had bit down on his knuckle to stop the sob that wanted to break free. 

“It’s not fair,” Frank said after a moment, and he didn’t bother hiding the shakes in his voice, “You get to go back and I don’t. I just keep moving forward.”

It was the first time he talked about the parking lot with present day Gerard. He had made some arbitrary rules about keeping parking lot Gerard separate from present day Gerard, and didn't want to tangle the timelines. But this hurt. This was, Frank didn’t want to go through this alone.

“I think,” Gerard had whispered, so soft that Frank had to press the phone to his ear, “Sometimes I think that maybe it’s better to keep going forward instead of going back.”

And Frank had wondered if Gerard was thinking about the few nights he’s spent with Frank in the car, if he remembered how just last year they were making love in the backseat. Well, last year for Gerard. It had been three years for Frank, but he still dreamed about that night. He still thought about it when Gerard put his hand to the small of Frank’s back when he moved behind him in the studio, when he smiled at him knowingly, when he caught his eye and for a brief moment Frank found that look again. 

“I still cry when we play Kids,” Frank whispers now, feeling the shy smile pull at his lips.

Gerard looks down at his hands and smiles a little, then it fades and his eyes squeeze shut. “I haven’t been able to listen to that song in awhile.”

“Gee--”   


“Frankie, don’t. Please. Not this time.”

“Ok,” Frank whispers. Because he’d do anything for Gerard. He’d swallow the questions, put his feelings on hold just like he’s been doing for the last decade. 

Gerard wipes at his eyes and looks up at Frank and forces a smile. “Do you want to see a picture of Bandit?”

Frank nods. “Yeah, what’s she like now?”

Gerard snorts, “So imaginative.”

“Guess who she has to blame for that,” Frank whispers.

Gerard nods and pulls out his phone, swiping a bit then holds it out to Frank. Frank takes it and he can’t help but love this little girl. She looks like Lynz a lot, but Frank sees Gerard in her for sure, it’s the smile.

“She’s cute,” Frank says softly and he stares a moment longer, at the life he’s not involved in, before handing back the phone to Gerard. 

Gerard doesn’t say anything, he looks at the photo for a moment too. And he wonders if Gerard is thinking the same thing he is. That, of course he would never take back anything that would mean he’d never have Bandit, but maybe things could have been different. Frank wishes there was a way to let Gerard have both. To let  _ Frank _ have both. 

“Any dad advice you want?” Gerard chuckles, tucking his phone away.

Frank rubs his eyes. “Yeah, when do I get to sleep again?”

Gerard laughs and shakes his head. “Never.”

Frank nods and lets the laughter rumble in his chest for a moment. It’s nice to feel this lightness with Gerard for a moment. These visits get heavier and heavier as he ages. He wonders if he has that same look that Gerard had all those years ago. That haunted look that can’t shake the memories. 

But he doesn’t ask that. Instead he asks, “Does it ever stop? The fear?”

Gerard grins and reclines in his seat, throwing his boots up on Frank’s dash. “No. If anything, it gets worse.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “Wow, thanks.”

Gerard chuckles, and he sounds like such a fucking dad. He rubs at his jaw, “No, it’s the most amazing thing ever, and the scariest. Just”--he lets out a shuddery breath-- “You just have this bundle of love that you created. And that in itself is a mindfuck.  That this little baby is yours, you made it, it’s an extension of yourself. And you just want to stop the world from spinning, stop time so you can just hold her in your arms and you just want to be with yourself, in that innocence that you didn’t think was still possible.”

Frank doesn’t say anything yet. He’s learned over the years not to press Gerard, to let the words tumble out naturally from his mouth when he’s like this. When his defenses are down and he feels like sharing. It’s been years since they’ve had a conversation like this. Frank doesn’t think they’ve talked like this since before the Garden. Maybe even before Projekt Rev. Probably.

“But, time does keep moving,” Gerard continues after a beat, and there’s a stab of bitterness, a venom dripping softly from his voice and Frank knows it’s not just from watching his daughter grow up, “And she grows older. She becomes an actual person, not just a part of you anymore. She has thoughts and things that she wants to say. And you just hope that you’re helping her become the best person you can, because you know, Frankie. You  _ know _ how much hurt there is out there.”

Frank reaches for his hand, pulls it to his lips and kisses his knuckles. Gerard makes some soft noise that sounds like a whimper and a sigh, tangled, and then he’s leaning in and their lips brush together. Not a full kiss. Not anything like the kisses they’ve shared in the past, in and out of this car. 

Just a touch, to let each other know that they’re still here and that, “There’s beauty still,” Frank whispers, “I know you still believe that.”

Gerard strokes Frank’s cheek, and Frank keeps his eyes on Gerard’s to ignore the wedding band catching the light in his peripheral vision. 

*

Gerard gasps and withers under Frank. 

Frank didn’t think he’d ever get this again, he thought that they could never be like this with each other. Especially since the Gerard under him is only a year ahead of him in the future. 

And he still loves him.

Frank smirks against his lips and grinds down against him again. 

“Jesus  _ fuck _ ,” Gerard moans, tipping his head back and exposing his beautiful unmarked neck. Frank wants to giggle a little, because they all had a bit of a vampire kink back in the day. He brushes his lips against his throat, smiling when he feels Gerard swallow. Frank licks from his clavicle to his chin, rocking his hips hard against him and just lets himself fall into the feeling of Gerard under him. Completely at his mercy. 

Gerard wraps his still clothed leg around Frank as anchorage and grinds them together again, trying to find more friction. 

“Please,” Gerard whispers wantonly, “Frankie, just,  _ please _ .”

Frank leans up and off him, ignoring Gerard’s noise of protest. “Look at me,” he requests softly.

Gerard opens his eyes and brings his chin down to meet his eyes. Frank knows he didn’t need to look long, Gerard is always open to him in this car. And it just is such whiplash. That this Gerard,  _ this _ one here under him isn’t all that different from the one who’s on a flight back to LA right now. The one who still jokes with him on stage but never hugs him in his bunk anymore. The one that will make eyes at him during interviews, but won’t lay his head on Frank’s lap and whisper dreams. Frank almost wonders if Gerard has forgotten to dream. 

Gerard cups Frank’s cheek and Frank wants to yell at him. Wants to scream at him for this sweet torture. Wants to scream that he still loves him as intensely as he did when they were kids playing in VFW halls. 

But instead, he just leans down to capture his lips again. To taste him, wash himself in it. Gerard nips at his top lip, and it hits the small cut that’s still there from getting nicked with a guitar string. But the pain fuels him and he’s kissing Gerard harder, wanting to taste blood. 

They’re both wearing sweatpants and Frank mentally kicks himself for not thinking of that sooner. It makes car sex so much easier. He gets them both free of their clothed restrains, and then Frank is pressing against him, skin on skin. Gerard mewls and his hand ghosts down his back to rest at the curve of his ass. Frank takes Gerard’s other hand and sticks his fingers in his mouth, coating them in saliva, something he thinks would probably be sexier if he was younger and more concerned with how he looked in certain positions. But Gerard’s breathy, “Fuck, Frank,” and the desperate, “So hot, baby,” as Frank trails the wet digits behind him, pressing against him is encouraging. 

Frank sits up and grinds back against Gerard’s fingers, keeping his gaze on Gerard with half hooded eyes. Gerard wraps his other hand around Frank and strokes him in an almost rhythm, just enough out of sync that Frank can’t find the perfect timing to thrust forward, leaving him frustrated and whiny. 

Gerard chuckles thickly, “So needy.”

Frank’s head tips back as he rocks back against the fingers that just aren’t enough anymore. “Please,” he begs and just about cries when Gerard pulls out of him, just for a moment, then Frank’s head snaps forward, jaw to chest as he clenches his jaw and feels himself sink down on Gerard. 

“Come here,” Gerard whispers, “come here, let me hold you.”

It’s not as deep this way, but Frank doesn’t think it’s that bad of a trade to have Gerard’s arms wrap around him, his lips on his as they rock together. The way Gerard’s hands shake as they finally rest on Frank’s hips, fingers digging in and pulling Fran’s hips over and over him, harder. And Frank can’t even moan, can’t even  _ breathe _ let alone make any noise.

He never thinks it can get better. Every time he has sex with Gerard it’s so all encompassing that he thinks Gerard just absorbs him and leaves nothing left. Frank doesn’t feel, hasn’t felt, like he’s his own person in so long. Doesn’t know who Frank Iero is without Gerard Way.

Gerard shifts them, and it’s messy and clunky, but Frank’s laid out on his back now and Gerard can drive into him the way he wants. Frank brings his legs up higher, as much as he can in the cramped space, and it just feels that much better. This hiding, this folding of limbs, this secret space in time that will always be theirs. Where the band and no one else can touch them. Not family. Not fans. Not the fucking world. 

“Tell me, tell me,” Gerard whimpers, and Frank knows he’s getting close from the erratic snaps of his hips. Gerard reaches between them and wraps his hand around Frank and, fuck, “Tell me, Frankie.”

“Anything,” Frank hisses pushing up into Gerard’s thrusts and strokes.

“Tell me.”

“Love you,” Frank breathes as he feels Gerard shake, as he feels Gerard press as deep as possible, that Frank doesn’t even know if they’re two seperate people anymore. 

Gerard doesn’t give himself time to settle in an afterglow, just keeps stroking and whispers, “Look at me.”

Frank does and he just needs one look before he slams his head back against the backseat and sobs as he comes, hot stripes covering Gerard’s hands and Frank’s stomach. Gerard strokes him gently through it, and when it’s too much, he pets at his hips. 

“So pretty, Frankie,” he murmurs.

Frank doesn’t float back down, he’s slammed back into his body. Back into the body that’s under another person’s husband, who’s licking up his come. Pressing sweet kisses into his skin like he belongs to him. Like he’s cherished. 

“Tell me,” Frank whispers. 

*

“This is it,” Frank says, standing outside the car this time. He watched Gerard walk across the parking lot with a confused look, eyebrow raised. This is a Gerard further into the future, one he hasn’t met yet. His hair is greying and he’s got fucking facial hair. 

Gerard stops just short of him. “What do you mean?”

“Bamboozle was it, wasn’t it?” Frank bites out. 

“Let’s get in the car, Frank, it’s fucking cold.”

But Frank feels like he’s on fire. He’s sweating and shaking and he can’t fucking breathe, because his world is ending slowly. It’s not even, it’s not like all of a sudden it’s over. He would have prefered the band ending like ripping off a bandaid. But not this tortuous heaviness that’s been hanging over all their heads. The strained conversations on phones because none of them can even bear to look at each other. 

Frank can’t even tell that summer really ended, not really. If it wasn’t cold out right now, he’d think he was still in that dark pull of Gerard killing himself again. He just wanted to shake him and scream.

Gerard opens the backdoor and coaxes Frank in. Gerard slides in and pulls Frank down to rest his head in his lap. He carts his fingers through Frank’s hair, fingers getting caught on the knots that Frank hasn’t had the energy to pull free. 

“I can’t tell you if it’s the end,” Gerard says softly, “I wish I could tell you that everything is going to be fine, but things hurt for awhile, baby. But, you’re going to be fine. I promise, you have to trust me.”

“I don’t,” Frank sniffles stubbornly, “I don’t believe you. This  _ hurts _ .”

“I know,” Gerard whispers, letting his fingers trail down to rub at his neck. “I know it does. But it won’t forever.”

Frank wants to hate him, wants to push him out of the car and drive away. Wants to hate him for giving him this life. This life full of music and love and heartache. 

“I wish I had listened to you,” Frank murmurs, “That I had focused on my own time instead of the future.”

Gerard’s hands work their way down Frank’s back now. “Now, I want you to think of the future, because it’s better than where you are right now. Right now is really dark.”

“It was supposed to be colorful.”

“Hm?”

“When I saw you with the red hair,” Frank tells him, thinking about the fiery Gerard in his car all those years ago, the smile, the rosy cheeks. It had just been a facade. “I thought it meant that we were going to be happy.”

Gerard hums. “You weren’t happy?”

“You were starving yourself,” Frank bites out, “And drinking.”

And Frank thinks back to the manic behavior. How sexual Gerard had been on stage. And how fucking sick Frank felt because he wanted that Gerard. Wanted him under him, had had him under him. Right where they’re sitting. And it makes Frank sick.

“You were sick again,” Frank continues. 

Gerard strokes down his back, along his spine. “Don’t, just... put that aside for a minute. The colors, the ray guns, all the art. That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“It felt like a party at the end of the world,” Frank whispers.

Gerard presses his palm flat against Frank’s shoulder. “Exactly. That’s exactly what it was. That’s what I want you to remember.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“I know, but try for me anyway.”

Always, he wants to tell Gerard. He’d always do anything for him.

But he’s not sure if he believes that anymore.

For the first time, he’s not sure if his world revolves around Gerard because it feels like it’s just stopped. That time means nothing now. That it doesn’t matter where this Gerard is from or where Frank is in his own timeline, because none of that matters without the band. 

It hadn’t mattered for a while now. 

*

Gerard’s arms are around Frank as soon as the door opens. 

“Frank, Frank, Frank,” he breathes, hugging him tightly like he’s afraid Frank is going to disappear in front of him. 

Frank takes a weak moment to melt into his touch. Because he hasn’t seen Gerard in a year, he buries his nose into Gerard’s neck and breathes in. He runs his hands down the torn up hoodie that Gerard is wearing, strokes his long brown hair, kisses his rounded cheek.

Gerard cups Frank’s face in his and kisses him, and Frank lets himself live in the lie. Let’s himself believe that this Gerard, that in the future Gerard still gives a fuck about him.

Like he didn’t just break up the band earlier this year.

With a fucking post online.

Just like the wedding, he didn’t even tell him. He just did it.

He remembers laying in bed for days, listening to his wife and kids walk around the house like they weren’t even there. He remembers falling into memories of the road. How the world looked from the inside of a window. Moving, always moving Frank forward even when he begged it to stop just for a second. Just so he could take the time to really breathe and appreciate what was happening to him. That he was in a band, a family, with three of the most important guys in his life. That he got to travel the world with them and share a stage with them in front of people that cared about them. That he felt a love he never thought he’d deserve. And various forms of that love. Frank can’t ever be thankful enough of not just being loved, but feeling it differently. The adoration, the understanding from the fans. The brotherly comradery from Mikey, how he stayed up with him and watched  _ The Twilight Zone _ while the wheels underneath them carried them to new cites. The support and respect from Ray, the continuous push to learn and want to be better while working with him. And fuck, the all encompassing love that he felt from Gerard that he doesn’t even know if it’s still even a word. If love is even how he describes what he feels from and for Gerard. 

“It’s over,” Frank chokes.

And Gerard tightens his grip on Frank, pulls back and his face breaks, like he’s reliving that moment too. “Oh, Frankie, I’m so sorry.”

And Frank had wanted to be mad, but he’s numb. He just clings to Gerard and lets him cry over his shoulder like he’s the one that just had his world end. Gerard pulls Frank to him, presses his wet face against his neck and presses kisses and apologies into his skin. 

And Frank doesn’t feel any of it.

He doesn’t believe any of it.   
  


*

It’s December 3, 2014 and Frank isn’t at the parking lot where he usually meets Gerard. He’s sending a text to confirm with his mom that she can sell his old car.

*

It’s December 3, 2015 and Frank is in some hotel in the Netherlands, thinking about the next album already. The next band already. He just has to keep moving forward. 

*

It’s December 3, 2016 and Frank is just happy to be alive. He’s sitting up in his bed, trying not to move because it still hurts too fucking much. And he’s thinking about the last night in the parking lot. How clingy Gerard had been, and ok, Frank’s been an Instagram stalker and can put two and two together. That last Gerard he saw was from this year. 

And Frank had read the post that Gerard had made on his website, and he teared up a bit. But it wasn’t the same as a phone call.

* 

It’s December 3, 2017 and Frank is drinking a beer with Adam and he’s on tour again. And for a moment he thinks he’s back in the dingy bars and venues from 2003. But the kids all have their cellphones out and he’s the one singing.

*

It’s December 3, 2018 and Frank drives by the parking lot. He sees his old beater car and he knows that they’re sitting in there together. Frank idles in the road, just watching the figures move behind the windows, and Frank wants to climb into the car too. He wants to comfort his past self. Because it does hurt for a while, but he kept moving forward.

And while there’s so much fucking hurt.

There is also beauty.

And there’s Gerard.

And there’s Frank. 

Just Frank Iero, able to stand without Gerard Way.

*

Frank lights his cigarette, rolling down the window because Jamia hates it when he smokes inside the car. He’s sitting in their parking lot for the first time in years. The mall isn’t even here anymore, it’s just a vacant parking lot. There’s a fence along one side with an advertisement for a gym. 

When the door opens, Frank laughs.

“It’s you,” he says.

The Gerard sitting next to him is the same Gerard he just left twenty minutes ago. They were at Frank’s house, sitting in his studio listening to some stuff that Frank’s been working on over the years. Sipping too weak tea that Frank always seemed to have a mug of. And Gerard had just smiled and smiled and smiled.

It was almost like old times.

But better, because it was now. 

And Frank was determined to live in his own time.

Gerard smiles warmly at him. “Yeah, we probably could have just carpooled.”   


“More suspense this way,” He whispers, because yeah, there had been a moment when they both left the house. A moment where he wondered if Gerard was going to the parking lot as well. If he would be in the same time, or if he was going there to meet a different, younger Frank.

He still can’t believe that in a couple weeks he’s going to be on stage with him again. When they all got back together to rehearse, Frank had to press his lips together the whole time to keep from crying. And from looking at Ray, Mikey, then Gerard, he wasn’t the only one. 

Gerard reaches out and tucks Frank’s hair behind his ear. A gesture that he hasn’t done in years, but still feels like it just happened yesterday. That’s the thing about being in this parking lot, time just blurs together. 

Because if he looks at Gerard right now, he can also see the kid from 2005 with sure hands and confident eyes. He sees the desperate and lovesick man who just broke his heart in 2007 with bruising kisses and loving caresses. He sees the man from 2010 with the bright red hair dye to distract everyone from the fact that he’s in pain. He sees the father from 2014 who’s stopped seeing the beauty in the world. The man from 2016 who thought he just lost his best friend, the love of his life. And this man, the one who’s looking at him like he’s remembering everything too. But his eyes don’t look haunted by the memories this time. 

Frank sniffles and pulls out his phone. “We still need to pick a song to open with.”

Gerard hums and leans back in the seat. “Mikey thinks ‘I’m Not Okay’.”

Frank shrugs, yeah that was their first big single, it would make sense. But, it just doesn’t hold the sentiment. Ray had mentioned doing Mama, something the kids really love and of course, of  _ fucking _ course he wanted to do that one because it showcased all their talents. But, Frank still wasn’t sure about that one either. Gerard wants to do Kids even though he hadn’t been able to get through it without tearing up. Frank was the only one who hadn’t had an opinion.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t care. He cared too much. What song would encapsulate the meaning of this band to him. Of Gerard. Because it wasn’t just the band. It was Gerard and how he came back every December to Frank. This little moment in time for them. 

Frank fiddles with his phone, trying to decide on a song. In the end he just pulls up their discography and hits shuffle. Because they’re not in a rush tonight. 

“This is it then, isn’t it?” Frank asks after a few songs finish.

Gerard doesn’t have to ask for clarification, just nods.

Frank stares at Gerard, at the ugly green jacket he keeps wearing. How it's a new uniform for him, he wonders if he’s still hiding even after all this time. If he still thinks he’s just a character. Wonders if he ever believed Frank when he told him he was real.

Whatever he was about to say gets muffled into Gerard’s lips. Soft, and it’s different this time. Familiar, but not. It’s like he’s learning all over again. And not because this Gerard isn’t his anymore. It’s just, this is now. 

This is really happening for both of them. It’s not a memory for Gerard and it’s not a reach into the future for Frank.

It’s right now.

Frank pulls away, just to rest his forehead against Gerard’s. 

Gerard hums and smiles, his cheeks a little pink.

“If you say we’ll always have December third, I’m going to punch you in the teeth,” Frank whispers.

Gerard laughs, a full belly laugh that he hasn’t heard in so long. So, so long that it makes Frank’s eyes burn behind a veil of tears. 

Gerard’s about to say something but his voice cuts off at the riffs that bounce throughout the car and he stares at Frank, eyes full of that light that he had back in Eyeball. The same twinkle that left Frank breathless as they looked at each other on stage. The knowing look. A shared secret. No, better. A promise.

And then Frank feels the same goosebumps he felt when he heard Gerard first sing.

_ You’re not in this alone. _

**Author's Note:**

> The ending might have been a little cheesy, but I was feeling it.


End file.
